


Last Kiss

by ddelusionall



Category: JYJ (Band)
Genre: Character Death, M/M, Supernatural Elements, not the tv show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23929384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddelusionall/pseuds/ddelusionall
Summary: Yoochun knew he should have stopped smoking a long time ago.
Relationships: Kim Junsu (JYJ)/Park Yoochun





	Last Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> I am importing my stories from LiveJournal. The original fic can be found [here](https://be-ddelusionall.livejournal.com/).
> 
> I haven't read this story in a long time, so I may have missed some tags. Just let me know if I did.

“Those will kill you one day.”

Yoochun finished lighting his cigarette, inhaling deeply before turning to the husky voice. He froze for a moment. He’d been expecting an older man to go with the voice, but the guy behind him looked younger than Yoochun.

“A lot of things will kill you one day,” Yoochun replied and took a drag. He held out the cigarette, offering.

The guy shook his head. His hair was the only thing bright about him, shockingly blond, almost white. He wore black pants, a black coat. A black shirt. His skin was pale, ghostly and tinged with gray, through Yoochun blamed the low light of alley. There were deep bluish circles under his eyes. The only thing that gave his face life was his eyes. Dark, practically glowing eyes rimmed with black.

This guy had “emo” down pretty well.

Yoochun smirked and shook his head. “So is there a reason why you’re standing in this alley giving me health tips?”

The guy shrugged. “It’s a nice night. Why ruin it by killing yourself?”

“If I wanted to kill myself, I’d slit my wrists.”

“Why don’t you?”

Yoochun coughed on his next inhale. “What?”

“Why don’t you?”

“Kill myself?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

Yoochun swallowed. “That’s fucked up. Don’t joke about death.”

“You’re the one that’s smoking a cigarette. Playing with fate with every inhale.”

Yoochun stared at the brick wall in front of him. It was damp from the humidity and rain. The next drag burned his lungs.

“And don’t you have asthma?” the guy continued. “You shouldn’t be smoking if you have asthma.”

Yoochun had the cigarette half way to his mouth and froze, turning to the guy. “How do you know that?”

“Um, because it’s dangerous. You can’t fucking breathe anyway, so of course smoking is going to make it worse.”

“No, fucker, how do you know I have asthma?”

The guy’s lip turned into something that might have been a smile. “Death knows everything.”

Yoochun tossed the cigarette away. “You’re fucking crazy. Stay away from me.”

The guy did not follow Yoochun and he felt that gaze on his back as he walked down the alley to a metal door and went back to work washing dishes.

\--

Yoochun’s bedtime cigarette was not as satisfying as it usually was. He leaned against the cool metal of the fire escape outside his window. The end burned orange.

Yoochun turned his head quickly seeing movement in the corner of his eye, but nothing was there. He’d been jumpy since the encounter with that stalker in the alley. He felt like he was being watched.

He tossed the half-smoked cigarette away. He hadn’t finished a single one all night. With a sigh, he climbed into the bedroom. A thin mattress lay on the floor. His clothes were piled in milk crates and the only thing of value was his iPhone that he splurged on and cursed every time his phone bill was due. But it was a phone, TV, movie theatre, computer and stereo all in one, so he was able justify the cost.

The little light burned blue and lit his way.

He blinked, seeing movement near the window. Probably a rat or something. Nothing to worry about.

Yoochun’s skin crawled. He stripped to his boxers and climbed under the blanket. The glow of his iPhone showed him that it was almost three in the morning.

Yoochun shut his eyes with a sigh. What felt like moments later, they snapped open. Everything was dark. His skin pebbled, the hairs standing up. He held his breath, listening, hearing nothing more than the creaking of the old apartment building.

Something cold brushed the back of his neck.

Yoochun shouted and flipped around, back flat. His chest rose and fell.

That cold touch landed on his stomach and trailed up his chest. Mocking laughter filled his mind, and Yoochun shut his eyes, trying to breathe, but each touch of what felt like fingers on his chest stole his breath.

He curled up with the blanket, shutting his eyes tightly.

Firm fingers grabbed his hip and he whimpered, unable to move, except how they wanted him to. Onto his stomach.

The blanket ripped off him.

Cold, so very cold, settled over him, and Yoochun tried to cry out, but his lungs wouldn’t fill.

“What’s wrong?” a familiar voice whispered. “Death caught your tongue?”

Yoochun forced himself to breathe, panic closing his throat. His fingers scratched uselessly on the floorboards. His inhaler was only feet away.

“Such a lousy way to die,” the voice continued.

Yoochun inhaled deeply and suddenly. Blond hair fell against his cheek, and Yoochun whimpered.

“How many people have told you to quit smoking, huh?” The guy tsked at him. “No one ever listens to me. Shouldn’t you listen when Death tells you to stop smoking?”

Those firm hands grabbed his hips again and easily flipped him over. Yoochun tried to crawl away, but the man was straddling him. He wore a gray coat that had tangles of darker gray material at the shoulders. His pale face seemed more alive than it had in the alley, and his lips were blood red.

“Go-go away,” Yoochun gasped. “P-please, just …”

“Can’t go away until I get what I came for, Yoochun-ah.”

Yoochun whimpered again and shut his eyes, telling himself it was a dream, just a dream.

Cold fingers danced down his stomach and to his boxers. They curled around his soft dick and held him tightly.

“The worst part,” the guy said, eyes sparking with blue and white, “is that they won’t find your body for days. It’s going to stink and only your boss who is going to curse you to the extreme will realize you’re missing. No one will tell your mom, because you left no contact information. No one will even care that you die.”

Yoochun tried not to cry, he tried, but tears dripped down his face. The guy was right. Yoochun had no friends, had no one outside of the screen on his iPhone. The guy whose Twitter name was Hero would miss him, but Yoochun didn’t even know his real name.

“Such a sad existence, but don’t worry, sometimes death hurts just a little less than life.”

“Fuck you,” Yoochun managed and tried to buck the man off.

But he was strong, despite his deathly appearance. He grabbed Yoochun’s hands and slammed them above his head. Yoochun cried out, head tilting back. The guy rubbed his crotch on Yoochun’s and it had been way too long without sex and Yoochun moaned.

“Ah, men,” he whispered.

Cold lips pressed against his neck and then his cheek and then his lips. They attached themselves so fully that Yoochun couldn’t even kiss the guy back if he wanted to. The guy’s tongue dove into his mouth, over and over, sucking his breath, exhaling ice-cold air into his lungs. Their hips rocked together and the grip on Yoochun’s hands tightened. His vision went gray with pleasure, his body shuddered violently.

The guy sucked at his mouth again, stealing his next breath. “Your soul tastes heavenly.”

Yoochun’s eyelids fluttered and he stopped breathing and collapsed to the floor.

Coldness pressed against his chest. A frozen hand spread over his heart. Each finger burned where they touched.

Yoochun focused on the fading image above him and, with the rest of his strength, gasped, “Why?”

“Everyone has to die, Yoochun-ah.”

Yoochun inhaled twisted jerked, back arching, body hovering, and then it was black. All black, swirling mists over swirling mists. He spun wildly, reaching for anything to grab, crying out, voice echoing through nothing.

Movement. He spun around.

The guy stood in front of him, but he never got closer as Yoochun tried to walk toward him in the inky darkness.

“Don’t try too hard to figure it out,” the guy said. “People die every day.”

Yoochun stared at him. After an eternity of eye contact he finally said, “My mother.”

The guy smirked. “People think of those they love after they are already dead when they should have thought of them in life.”

“Fuck you,” Yoochun whispered, and then screamed it. The fragile control he had snapped and he fell to his knees, sinking in the swirling black clouds.

The guy tsked again. “The pretty ones are always so emotional.” He turned around and left to go catch himself another soul.


End file.
